All the Ports of Call
by Soleil2
Summary: What if the road not taken didn't quite go as planned?
1. Default Chapter

Title: All the Ports of Call  
  
Author: Soleil  
  
Disclaimer: In case you were wondering, I still don't own them. Other people do.  
  
Summary: I think we can all agree that I've been pretty shippery recently, right? This is angst. Pure and simple. Sorry. My muse made me do it. A sort of follow up to "What if?" Only in the vaguest possible way though.  
  
AN: First: I owe thank yous to everyone who sent feedback for Sugar, Sugar. I'm truly sorry I didn't send out personal thank yous, but my email ate everything. I'm so sorry.  
  
Second: This is angst. You've been warned. And before I get flamed, yes, I'm a shipper. See, for example, the bulk of my stuff. I'm just doing something a little different this time around.  
  
Third: I've been super busy recently, between work, my original writing, and reading everyone else's stuff, I'm a little bogged down. So bear with me. Now, if you made it past all that....  
  
Prologue  
  
They saw each other again years later, when time and age had done what proximity and good intentions could not do. When she left, bitterness and frustration had simmered beneath the surface of each conversation. They flowed like lava between them, hot and angry and ready to erupt, covered by a thin crust of strained friendliness. The good-bye was almost perfunctory and filled with half-meant promises. They promised to write, to call, to keep in touch. They promised not to let the miles affect them. And then they turned and walked away, leaving each other behind.  
  
Years had passed. They piled up, one by one until they had built a wall as thick and as real as any made of concrete. It was impossible to lost track of him completely. And, if she were honest with herself, she didn't really want to cut all ties to him.  
  
So, she knew, as he must have known, that he would be at the party for AJ's high school graduation. Children, some hers, most not, of all ages crowded the backyard, ducking behind trees and legs and climbing on to laps. Tomorrow, AJ would have a party with his friends, but this night was a thank-you to everyone who had influenced and helped him.  
  
The air was thick, filled with scents from the barbecue and the noise of the guests. The sun had set hours ago, leaving the yard bathed in blues and lit by lanterns and torches. Most of the guests hadn't been at the graduation ceremony and were only starting to arrive. The sound of the screen door sliding in its tracks swished rhythmically as the guests filtered through the house.  
  
She saw him as soon as he stepped on to the deck. She had been sitting at a picnic table, talking to Sturgis and keeping an eye on her daughters. During a pause in the conversation, a moment when Sturgis was distracted by a child's sticky fingers, she glanced at the screen door just as he walked through it.  
  
She knew the moment he saw her, too. She felt his gaze snag on her like she was thistle. It caught and held and her fingers tensed around the edges of the picnic table. For a minute, the years slid away and she felt like had twelve years ago, anxious and confused. Then he continued his scan of the yard and her daughter careened into her back and she remembered where she was. 


	2. 2

Almost twelve years ago, he married the woman sitting at the picnic table talking to one of his closest friends. Torchlight washed her in an illusion of half-light, erasing lines and years from her face. Standing on the deck and searching the yard for his daughters, it was almost possible to believe that the past twelve years hadn't happened the way they did. Standing on the deck, searching for his daughters, he couldn't bring himself to regret the ways the years progressed, but he could feel foolish for being dared by a fortune cookie.  
  
He married her in the fall, when the leaves were just beginning to turn color and the sunlight had faded to a dull gold. When the divorce was finalized, they divided the wedding album into piles. Photographs she wanted, pictures he wanted. She pressed the pages to her chest, fingers splayed against their stiff backs and told him that she was keeping them for the girls. For Emily and Audrey, but mostly for Emily so she could remember her mother and father when they were happy. Audrey was only a baby; she would never remember the feel of the nervous tension that slicked through her mother's muscles. She would never remember the way her father would retreat to the garage to avoid his wife. But Emily was different. She'd told him, as they were standing outside the house that was once theirs waiting for the movers, that Emily used to make up stories about their pictures. About mommy, the bride, and daddy, the prince.  
  
Their street was quiet and the movers were late and he nearly told her to stay. But the vans turned onto the street and somehow it seemed so much simpler, so much neater, to let her go. And so, on that quiet summer day, when the sunlight was bright and the movers were quickly loading up the vans, he watched her put the girls in the car and drive away.  
  
"Dad!" The shout was loud and excited and cut across the noise of the backyard. He scanned it quickly, looking for its source.  
  
Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged tightly, tilting her head back and resting her chin on his chest. "Hi, Dad."  
  
"Hi, Sweetie." He hugged back, running a hand down her smooth brown hair. He tugged the end of her ponytail. "How's my girl?"  
  
"I missed you." She stretched onto her toes and placed a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. "We're all packed and everything. Just waiting for you." She stepped back a little and grabbed his hand. "Mom's here," she added. "Come say hi."  
  
He let her pull him across the yard, knowing it would be easier to say hello and dreading having to make conversation. "Madam Prosecutor." He leaned down and touched his lips to her cheek.  
  
"Captain." She smiled up at him and gestured to the bench. "Have a seat. I believe you know Sturgis."  
  
"I vaguely remember you. Did you go Annapolis?" He shook hands with him as he lowered himself to the bench. Across the yard, someone had started a volleyball game. Emily fidgeted by his side, before kissing him quickly and running over to the game. "Was it something I said?"  
  
Mac nodded to the game. "Jimmy Roberts," she said quietly. "I think Em has a crush."  
  
Sturgis grinned at the frown on Harm's face. "So, how's it going on the west coast?"  
  
"Can't complain." He shrugged. "The weather is beautiful, work's not bad either."  
  
Sturgis shifted in his seat. A blur of movement caught his eye and he stood suddenly. "Excuse me, would you?" He clapped a hand on Harm's shoulder. "I think one of my kids is trying to kill the other one. Harm, buddy, I'll talk to you later."  
  
Silence, heavy and itchy, settled over the table like a blanket. He eased his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the tabletop. "So," he began.  
  
"So," she smiled. Tilting her head a little, she nodded to his left, warning him.  
  
He heard the tell-tale jump of his youngest daughter's pounce and braced himself for the impact, tightening his muscles, ready to catch her if she missed. "Daddy," she yelled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.  
  
"Hi, Sweetpea." He patted her forearm. Adjusting his position, he pulled her forward and on to his lap. "How are you, baby?"  
  
"Good. I lost a tooth." She smiled and stuck her tongue through the space. "Sthee?"  
  
"Wow, look at that," he marveled. "When did that happen?" He spoke to his daughters every night and saw them every holiday. It was so easy to believe that their lives paused between each visit, that things remained static between each conversation. But lost teeth and disappearing freckles and other little things that weren't there reminded him how much he didn't see.  
  
"Thith morning," she said, tongue stuck firmly in the new gap. "I tried to call you, but Mommy thaid you were on the airplane."  
  
"I probably was," he agreed, hooking his chin over the top of her head.  
  
She tugged on a button his shirt, pulling the fabric away and patting it back down again. "Oh," she paused. "Where are Rachel and Scott?" Placing her palms on his shoulders, she raised herself to peer around him, searching for the missing people.  
  
He noticed Mac's flinch, the way her fingers flexed around her soda can, at the sound of his wife's and stepson's names. She coughed lightly and glanced around the yard, looking anywhere but him. "San Diego," he told his daughter. "Rachel thought it would fun for us fly back together."  
  
Audrey nodded and shifted, her knees digging into his legs. "Okay." She kissed him on the cheek. "I'm going to go play with Emily, okay, Mommy?"  
  
Mac smiled at her daughter and waved a hand. "Be my guest." She watched as Audrey ran across the yard, shouting something unintelligible to Emily. "They're so excited about their trip," she murmured into her hand.  
  
"I've missed them," he said in a low voice.  
  
Her gaze darted back to his face and her hand covered his. "Oh, honey," she said, the word slipping out easily, comforting him the same way she'd soothe their daughters. "They've missed you, too. More than you realize." Her fingers circled his and released, retreating to her side of the table.  
  
She sighed a little. "I've heard some interesting rumors about you."  
  
He arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"  
  
"JAG?"  
  
He shrugged. "Nothing's set in stone. I don't even know if I'll..." He broke off. "There's a lot to consider."  
  
"The girls would be thrilled to have you back here," she said.  
  
"Where's what his name?" he asked, changing the subject.  
  
Her lips quirked up at the corners and she shook her head a little. "Bill does the same thing," she said quietly.  
  
Someone turned a radio on and oldies slid across the yard. The volleyball game had attracted a crowd. Laughter and shouts punctuated each lob and serve. "What's that?" he asked.  
  
"Pretends he forgets your name." She brushed a strand of hair off her face and tugged on her skirt hem. "He didn't come," she added.  
  
He tried not to feel relieved. He didn't mind Bill; he just didn't want to see the man who had replaced him. "Oh?"  
  
"He went to the ceremony." She exhaled slowly. "I don't think he was really all that anxious to see you either." She smiled apologetically to ease the sting of the words.  
  
She didn't need to, he understood. But the silence was back, awkward and difficult to escape. He stretched and got ready to stand up, to walk away, but her hand shot out and hovered above his, pausing before skin could touch skin. "I have to tell you something." She inhaled slowly, staring at the space where his old wedding band once sat. It was gone now, replaced by a newer one. She twisted her own around her finger and pulled her other hand back slowly. She curled her fingers into a ball and pressed them against her lap. Her thumb brushed over her knuckles, once slowly and back again. "It's nothing bad, but you should sit down."  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
Her breath released in shaky sigh and she stared in front of her. "I just – I don't want you to hear this from Emily and Audrey." She bit her lip, then pushed the words out quickly. "I'm pregnant." 


	3. 3

Emily tripped lightly into the world on a summer day. That summer, the sounds of cicadas and crickets, tree frogs and night bugs, cocooned the house. The air was cool and summer's soft air drifted through windows and open doors. He used to play his guitar for her and the notes trailed the wind and spread through the house. She would sit in the kitchen, fingers wrapped around a mug of tea, and watch the fireflies in the backyard. The sound of his guitar, low and smooth, eased over the pulsing clacks of the insects.  
  
Condensation would gather on the bottom of her mug while she waited for him. Little drops of water formed beneath it, making rings on the table. She marked time through the water, the minutes passing with each drop. The nights stretched out, long and quiet, and flowed into each other. She didn't mind waiting for him then. It amazed her now, how much patience she had then and how easily it had slipped away. How it had evaporated like the steam from her water, disappearing so completely that only the ghost of its memory remained.  
  
"Oh." He sat down on the bench, the wood bouncing beneath them. "I guess congratulations are in order."  
  
She waved a hand in front of her, sweeping away his words. "You don't have to." Swallowing, she glanced down at her lap. "I – it wasn't planned." Her hand fluttered over her stomach then settled on her thigh. "Obviously."  
  
He studied her profile. "Are you," he began, then paused. "Are you happy about it?" His fingers curled around his knee.  
  
"I," she started. "I don't know." She straightened her leg and pointed her toes. "At first I thought it was the start of menopause." She inhaled slowly. "I'd almost," she stopped, her hand covering her mouth. "That sounds awful, doesn't it? It's taking some getting used to."  
  
"I-"  
  
"I don't know why I'm telling you all of this," she said in a rush. "I'm really sorry."  
  
"No." He stopped her. "It's okay." He smiled slightly. "It's just a shock."  
  
She nodded, staring straight ahead of her. "I know. The girls – the girls are really excited about it."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"No." The word escaped and she sighed. "Getting there. It's hard not to be when those two are so wonderful." She waved at their daughters. "It's just - I'm too old to do this. Some people my age have grandchildren or at least full grown children." She slipped her shoes off her feet and ran her toes over the grass in an arch. "I'll be the oldest mother at the daycare center. And, oh God, by the time she, he, graduates from high school? I'm going to look like a grandmother. I could be a grandmother."  
  
He flinched. "Those two are never getting married, so you're safe there."  
  
She laughed a little. "That's a relief." She nodded at the girls. They were laughing as Emily patiently taught Audrey some complicated handclapping routine. "Don't you wish they could stay like this forever?"  
  
Audrey was growing frustrated. He could see the tension in the lines of her back. She solved the problem by launching herself at her sister, tackling her to the ground. "Yeah," he said quietly.  
  
"It's harder for you," she said softly. "They grow up so quickly. I wish-" She stopped and sighed again. "I wish there was some way to make it easier."  
  
"It's not your fault." He propped his elbows against the table's edge and leaned back. The wood was sharp beneath his shoulder blades and he shifted to get comfortable.  
  
"It's not yours either, you know," she said, shrugging off his words. "Well, no matter how much we screwed up our lives, they came out pretty great, didn't they?"  
  
"They did," he agreed.  
  
She exhaled slowly, lowering her feet to the ground and watching as the grass billowed out from under her soles. "They love you." She ran a finger over her knee. "You didn't abandon them."  
  
He told himself the same thing every time he hung up the phone. He used the same words when he put them on the plane to go back to D.C. But the words sounded hollow, the comfort was cold, when he watched the plane taxi down the runway.  
  
"You had a job," she went on, "you had to go. You were transferred, you didn't request it."  
  
"I know, but-"  
  
"But you feel guilty anyway," she finished for him.  
  
"I feel the same way," she added. "Every time I put them on the plane. I hate waving good bye at the gate." She shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling beneath her dress. "It helps," she said in a low voice, "knowing you're waiting for them."  
  
His fingers slid over the back of her hand and he smiled when she turned her hand over and wove hers between his. 


	4. 4

When she married him, she thought words were like magic. That an "I love you" or an "I'm sorry" could erase years of misunderstandings and hurts. But it was a superficial magic, an illusion that hid the ugly spots instead of a spell that transformed the whole. Time, she realized, had a way of showing the ropes and pulleys, the mirrors and false bottoms that made the tricks work.  
  
Looking back on their marriage, and the years before it, he thought the worst thing he ever said or thought about her was that she turned in the direction of whoever showed interest. It didn't matter if it was true at the time, the words were corrosive and ate away at their marriage. She would always wonder if he thought that's what she had done. He would always wonder if she had agreed to date, then marry him because there was no one else around.  
  
Patterns, old and ugly, but so familiar, began to re-emerge and suddenly all the cried "I love yous" and "I didn't mean its" couldn't quite cover the spots they didn't want to see. And, soon, all the illusions, all the tricks weren't enough to make them look happy.  
  
Harriet and Bud's neighbors were having a party, too. The laughter drifted over the hedgerow and mingled with AJ's graduation party. The air sparkled, lit by candles and by torches, by the stars and a sliver of a moon.  
  
In their corner of the yard, the sounds of the two parties met and merged. They hovered above the picnic table, just out of reach and just close enough to tease them. He squeezed her hand before pulling his away. "I've always wondered," he said.  
  
"What's that?" she murmured, smoothing her skirt over her legs.  
  
"Do you ever regret it?" he asked quickly, forcing himself to say the words.  
  
"What?" she asked. Her hand jerked over skirt; her fingers clenched around the fabric, bunching it into fistfuls of material. "Our marriage?"  
  
He shrugged. "That's part of it, I suppose. I meant all the sacrifices. Leaving JAG."  
  
"Oh." She forced her hands to relax and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilted her head towards him and frowned. "You know, after a while, I never thought about it."  
  
"Really?" Doubt colored his voice.  
  
She nodded. "Really and truly." The corners of her mouth angled up as she watched the girls. "It was worth it." She glanced at him. "How long has that been bothering you?"  
  
He shrugged again. "I just wondered if you resented me for staying at JAG. You had a good career there."  
  
"So did you," she said. "I never thought you made me leave."  
  
"Still," he paused.  
  
"Still?"  
  
He looked up at the sky and wondered how to phrase his question. A satellite arced across the sky, moving steadily around the stars. Orion's belt was low on the horizon.  
  
"I never regretted our marriage, either," she said quietly, answering the question he didn't want to ask. "I used to wish...."  
  
"You wished?" he prodded.  
  
She shook her head and sighed. "There were days I wished we hadn't fought so much, but there were a lot of good days, too. I think I can finally see them again."  
  
"There were," he agreed, turning his gaze to his daughters. "I don't regret it either."  
  
She pleated her hemline and drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the candles and the fading smell from the barbecue, drawing comfort from the presence of the ordinary. "Did you ever read that god-awful poem, the one that has that line, 'I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more'?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "I think so. Why?"  
  
"I..." she broke off and looked away. "You made me a better person, H arm. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for you."  
  
Across the yard, Audrey performed the steps from her latest ballet. He hadn't been able to make it. A last minute case had required his attention. But Mac, or maybe it had been Bill, taped it and sent it to him. He'd made Scott and Rachel watch it with him the first time. He had a stack of missed moments. Piano recitals and ballets, soccer games all piled up on top of each other. Moments she had seen with someone else. "I made it possible for you to be happy with another man," he snorted.  
  
"No." She shook her head. Her hair swung out and settled back against her neck with the movement. "I mean, yes, I'm happy with him. You're happy with Rachel," she pointed out. "What I meant was – I meant, you made it possible for me to figure out how to be happy with myself." She waved a hand, frustrated with her explanation and unsure how to phrase it.  
  
He understood. "You might have figured it out on your own."  
  
"Maybe," she shrugged, "but that's not the point, is it?"  
  
"No," he sighed. "It's not." He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. His fingers brushed over the side of her hair and she smiled at him. He pulled his hand away and laced his fingers behind his head. "It's a two way street. I wouldn't have gotten this far without you."  
  
She blinked rapidly and laughed a little. "Oh." She ran a finger beneath her eyes and ducked her head. "You know, I had no idea how much I needed to hear that."  
  
He waited a minute, then asked, "Why couldn't we talk like this while we were married?"  
  
She sniffled. "There's no risk now."  
  
"I guess that's it." The words scattered in the dark, rising and mixing with the laughter. Silence, thick and heavy, fell.  
  
"We're being bad guests," she said, nodding at the party.  
  
He stood up and offered her a hand. "You're right." He tugged her to her feet. "Let's rejoin the group."  
  
She swung their hands between them and let go. "Let us." 


	5. 5

After the divorce, he traveled a lot, flying off to the corners of the world to avoid his part of it. To avoid her. Emily followed her around her house, asking her where her father was and what he was doing there. As much as she loved her daughter, the questions grew tiring and each "where's Daddy now" hurt a little more than the previous one. So she bought her a map, a large brightly colored map that she framed and hung on Emily's wall, and blue pushpins to track his progress.  
  
Over the years, Emily added to it. It contained pins marking her mother's travels, marking her father's. Even though her daughters hadn't realized it yet, it became a timeline of her life. Pale green, because Emily didn't like olive, marks the places where she grew up and the parts of the world she saw on her own. Yellow pins, bright and cheerful, sit in the places where they went together. Orange - for where they all traveled as a family. Emily added new colors when they remarried, adding her stepparents and their pasts to the map. It's a bright coded family history told through a series of pushpins.   
  
A collection of memories was growing on the deck. She added to it occasionally, when someone triggered something in her mind. But mostly, she was content to listen to them unravel the tangle of years. Sitting next to him, on a wooden bench at the edge of the deck, she found it hard to believe that she'd known him for twenty years. Over a third of her life had involved him in some form. Over a third of her life, and so much of that time had been spent in silence.   
  
"It's a shame," she said quietly.  
  
"What is?" he asked.  
  
She looked up, startled. "Oh. I hadn't realized - I didn't mean to say that out loud."  
  
He nudged her in her side with his elbow. "What's a shame?"  
  
"Nothing." She shook her head and waved her hand. "Just thinking."  
  
"I take it, it wasn't good."  
  
"No," she said softly, "not good or bad, just.... I was thinking about us."  
  
"Oh." He nodded and watched the light from the torches flicker over the trees and house. Through the window, he could see the television's shadows shift and reform on the ceiling. There was a pair of feet in one of the windows. They rocked back and forth, keeping time to the shadow's movements.  
  
"Yeah," she agreed.  
  
"It's been a long time," he said after a minute.  
  
"Can you believe it?"  
  
Shaking his head lightly, he said, "No." He looked around the deck, studying the people sitting on it. "When did we get so old?"  
  
"I don't know," she said. She shrugged and looped her fingers around her knee. "Did you ever think things would end up this way?"  
  
A hand appeared in the window and grabbed the foot, pulling it sideways. The accompanying shriek sifted through the screen, followed by echoing cries as more children joined in the melee. "Partially," he said, "I suppose."  
  
"Partially?" she repeated.  
  
He angled his body into a corner of the bench and faced her. She smiled at him, a corner of her mouth tilting up. The firelight moved in waves over the deck and her skin. He could feel his own mouth turn upwards in response to her smile.  
  
Her hand reached up and her thumb brushed over his cheekbone. "Dust," she told him.  
  
His fingers circled around her wrist, cuffing it in his hand. "I always thought I'd be here with you," he said.  
  
Her mouth opened, then shut, and she looked away. "You are," she said lightly, studying the arm of the bench.  
  
"No, I meant," he rushed to explain himself.  
  
"I know what you meant," she interrupted, her attention drifting to her left hand caught in his. Their wedding bands no longer matched and the light refracted differently in them. "I understand."  
  
He let go of her wrist and sat back.  
  
"I think," she said. "I know we said this once before, but I think - I think I'll always be a little bit in love with you."  
  
He nodded and exhaled slowly. "Me too."  
  
She gave him a shaky smile and laughed a little, the sound catching in her throat. "No wonder Bill always looks so nervous if I mention you."  
  
"Rachel acts the same way," he confided. He hooked his ankle over his knee and leaned back, stretching his arm across the back of the bench. "We could always prove them right and run away together."  
  
"Where would we go?" She relaxed against the seat.  
  
"We could buy that bungalow on the beach somewhere, live off the land."  
  
"We could," she agreed.  
  
"But," he said.  
  
"I think I'm going to stick around here," she said, "and see what happens."  
  
"That certainly sounds easier." He grinned. "Who knows? Maybe when we're both in retirement homes, I'll come in on my walker and sweep you off your feet."  
  
"You never know." She laughed again, this time the laugh broke free, and patted his knee. Maybe someday, when they were old and their children were grown and their lives were different, the wind would shift and he would wander back in her direction. But someday was a long way away and it was only a whisper of a promise. "I should get the girls home if you want them awake for the trip tomorrow."  
  
"I'll be by around ten, okay?"  
  
"Sounds good to me." She stood up and stretched. Bending down, she kissed his cheek lightly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"  
  
"Tomorrow," he said quietly.  
  
The radio switched songs and Bobby Darrin's voice eased on to the patio. She glanced in its direction, listening to him sing "Beyond the Sea." Cocking her head, she looked down at him again. "Remember this song?" she asked.  
  
"Of course." He pushed himself off the bench and cupped her elbow, leading her to the house. The girls were lying on the floor, eyes half-closed, watching a movie. She nudged Emily awake and he picked up Audrey, following her through the good-byes and hugs and out to her car.  
  
Her phone rang as she shut the car door. "Hello?" she answered.  
  
He could tell by her face that it was Bill. She smiled at him and held up a finger. "I'm leaving now. Can I call you back? Okay." She hit the end button and looked up.  
  
"I'll see you bright and early," she told him.  
  
"Yes, ma'am." He held her car door open for her. "Drive carefully."   
  
He waited until her car was gone before pulling his own cell phone out of his rental car. "Hello? Hi, Scott. How was the game?"  
  
A bright yellow pin sits squarely on the island of Bermuda. On their honeymoon, they went on a cruise. One night in port, the ship had a cocktail hour on one of the decks. The sun was setting and the sky was a light pink that was fading slowly to blue and the first stars were just beginning to show on the horizon. A breeze made the tablecloths snap and flutter. Across the harbor, a lighthouse sat on the edge of the bay and its light flashed silver over the water.   
  
She told him, as they stood side by side at the railing, watching the sailboats motor into the harbor, that she didn't want to leave. She snuggled into his side and listened as the brass band played a mix of oldies and standards. She told him that she wanted that moment to last beyond the night. But the next morning, when the sunlight filtered through the curtains, they woke up in the next port. Things - time, ships, people - had a way of moving on, and so, it seemed, did they.  
  
~end~ 


End file.
